Michigan Vamp

My Old License Plate

Eccentric Night Owl

Quote from Blood Read

"An ambiguously coded figure, a source of both erotic anxiety and corrupt desire, the literary vampire is one of the most powerful archetypes bequeathed to us from the imagination of the nineteenth century."~ page 2 introduction to Blood Read: The Vampire as Metaphor in Contemporary Culture

Intellectual Vampire Quote

"If the vampire is an other, he or she was always a figure in whom one could find one's self...the despicable as well as the defiant, the shameful as well as the unashamed, the loathing of oddness as well as pride in it."~ Richard Dyer

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Monday, April 20, 2015

For some reason, we as human beings seem to enjoy seeing our
familiar world in turmoil. There’s something exciting about society crumbling
around us, and having to learn a new way of living in order to survive. For some, like Carol in The Walking Dead, that means rising from the ashes of an already
broken life, and becoming a leader, someone who can be counted on when the
stuff that nightmares are made of comes to life. In other cases, leaders become followers, and
the strong become unable to adjust their moral code to adapt to a new world,
facing dire consequences because of their decisions.

There’s a magic in wondering if we as readers were in a
humanity-ending situation, would we be a Carol, or would we be something else.
As we turn the pages, we search for the answers of what we could become in the
direst circumstances. Maybe we wonder if we’d be able to make the hard choices
required to survive and to protect those around us.

What would The Hunger Games be like if Katniss
Everdeen had stayed home? If Connor Lassiter hadn’t run away and refused to be
unwound in the Unwind Series, where would that have left Risa and Lev? We’d all
like to think we would be the hero, save the girl, and live happily ever after,
but would we? Dystopian tales give us the chance to find out…or at least
pretend.

In my new book, The
Extraction List, a parent’s worst nightmare comes to fruition. Children are
being systematically ripped from their parents’ arms, never to be seen again.
And what’s worse? They cannot call the government or the police for help,
because THEY are the ones doing the ripping. Riley Crane has a mother willing
to do whatever it takes to keep her child. What would you do? Would you go on
the run, facing possible death in order to keep your family together? Or would
you stand idly by and hope the situation fixes itself? Hopefully, most readers
will never have to face a situation such as this. But as they read the novel,
they can pretend.

And they can see how (and if) they come through it on the other side…

The Extraction List

Book 1

Renee N. Meland

Genre:

Dystopian, SciFi Thriller

Publisher: Limitless Publishing

Date of Publication: April 7th, 2015

Number of pages: 216

Word Count: 54,000

Cover Artist: Redbird Designs

Book Description:

When fifteen-year-old Riley Crane finds out her best friend Olivia is being abused at home, she knows just who to turn to: her mother Claire, writer and spokesperson for President Gray's Parental Morality Law. Under this law, Task Force Officers remove children from their homes if their parents do not meet certain guidelines, taking them to government-run boarding schools. Once they arrive, supervisors rehabilitate them, turning them into productive members of society. Or at least that was how it was supposed to work...

Now, after a government official threatens to make Riley the law's latest victim, Riley and Claire must rely on Cain Foley, a gifted killer with a tongue as sharp as the knives he carries, to get them out of America alive. Though he slices through men's necks as if they are warm butter, Riley can't seem to keep her cheeks from flushing every time he speaks. But when they stumble upon a deserted boarding school, Riley sees that escaping the country is only part of their problem. Together, Riley and Cain figure out that a killer can save a life, and a mother can damn a nation

Sometimes a
killer can save a life. In this case that life happened to be mine. I wish I
had met him before the whole mess started. Maybe he could have saved more of
us.

Maybe he could
have saved us all.

I met the man
who saved my life exactly one month after he killed his twentieth person. Of
course he didn’t call it “murder,” he called it surviving, though sometimes I
thought he should try to explain the difference to the people buried in the
ground. To me, one label didn’t necessarily cancel out the other.

***

One of my
teachers used to say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Trust me,
I knew all about it; I called that road “mother.” That teacher never mentioned
what the road back was made with. I figured it was because nobody’d ever found
one. Hell sort of struck me as a one-way-ticket kind of thing.

The night the
Taskforce showed up on our doorstep, my mom screamed. After my brother Aidan’s
death, then Dad leaving, hearing her carrying on like a crazy person wasn’t
exactly new and different. I didn’t even flinch at first. I figured maybe she
was missing my dad all the way to the bottom of a tequila bottle—again.

After a couple
minutes though I slammed my copy of Crime and Punishment shut and left my room.
I took my sweet time going downstairs to see her, hoping to hold on to the
little bit of normal I’d had just seconds earlier. I stopped by the bathroom
and grabbed a giant bottle of aspirin. Just in case.

Then I decided I
was kidding myself. I knew better. There was no way she wouldn’t need aspirin.

“Riley! Get your
stuff! We have to leave right now!” I ducked as Mom greeted me with a scene
full of flying paper, jackets, and a few photo albums. They seemed to spin like
a paper and plastic tornado, twirling through the air and landing unevenly in a
giant duffel bag spread open at her feet. Even in the chaos I paused for a
second to wonder how Mom’s hair managed to stay fastened perfectly in place.
The image in front of me looked almost ordinary, a beautiful blonde woman in a
fitted black skirt, white blouse, and hair pinned back in a bun, with a briefcase
resting just inside the door.

Except this
woman had thrown half our living room into orbit.

“Mom, what’s
going on? What happened?”

Mom grabbed me
by the shoulders and stared right into my eyes. “We need to leave right now,
okay? I need you to not ask questions and just go pack a bag. You need to just
trust me and do what I tell you, okay? And do NOT come downstairs until I say
so.” Mom didn’t blink. I remembered the last time she didn’t blink during a
whole conversation: When she told me that she and Dad needed to “work on their
communication.” I found out later that was Mom-speak for “Dad’s about to
abandon us and slam the door for the last time.”

I suddenly
wished for the empty tequila bottle.

“You are my
life.” Mom kissed my forehead, and I ran up the stairs. I didn’t come down
again until I heard the gunshots. At fifteen, I was all too familiar with the
sound. A person was never too young to know the snap of a gun anymore. But it
was different coming from our house, like a firecracker going off inside my
brain.

When I got to
the entryway, a pool of blood belonging to a man in a gray suit tried to hold
my shoes to the floor. The sticky mess grabbed the soles of my sneakers and
smelled like raw steak fresh out of the plastic wrap. I winced as I stepped through
it toward my mom. A pink piece of paper rested on top of the pool, slowly
flooding with the dark red liquid. Bo, my mom’s best friend, had appeared too.
Pistol smoke swirled gently from the tip of his weapon.

It wasn’t the
blood, but the paper that made me scream. I felt the color drain from my
cheeks, and I wondered if I looked as white as the dead man lying on our floor.
“What the hell is going on? Is that pink paper what I think it is?”

Mom ignored my
question. I hated being ignored more than anything, especially by her. But
since there was a dead body involved, I figured I’d make an exception.

“Oh my GOD—you
KILLED him!” Mom screamed, and in all her stick-thin glory started flailing her
arms, hitting Bo with the strength of a flightless bird. Her bony fists bounced
off his body as if his chest were made of rubber. If it hadn’t been a murder
scene, it would have been kind of funny.

“Are you SURE? I
saw him push you and I panicked. Maybe he’s just wounded.”

Thank God Bo
didn’t panic more often.

Mom took a deep
breath and stepped through the blood. She gently picked up the man’s hand and
placed two fingers on his wrist. When she released it, her fingertips were
stained red. “Yes. He’s dead.” She made a grand gesture, starting at his head
and finishing toward his feet. “That’s what dead people look like. What are we
going to do?”

My hands shook,
partially from fright and partially because no one would tell me why there was
a dead guy in the entryway.

Or why he had
the pink slip of paper.

Bo grabbed Mom by
the shoulders and held her still. “Claire, we’re going to grab Riley and we’re
going to get out of here before more people come looking for this guy. I’ll
tell you the plan on the way.”

Mom scoffed at
him with wide eyes. “Plan? I don’t need your plan. I’m going to go straight to
President Gray about this and he’s going to fix it. He has to.”

A twinge of hope
rose inside me, working its way up from the tips of my toes to the top of my
head. Maybe we wouldn’t have to leave our home after all. Maybe our little
visit was just a really complicated, really messy misunderstanding. “Yeah,
Mom’s right. I’m sure he’ll fix this. I can’t actually be on the Extraction
List, right, Mom?”

“Of course not.
There’s no way.”

Mom started
toward the door, but Bo stepped in front of her.

“Claire, you saw
the paperwork with your own eyes. Gray knows all about this. His signature is
there.” He pointed to the guy on the floor. “This guy was going to grab your
daughter. We need to go right now.” Bo took Mom by the hand and dragged her out
the door.

I hesitated,
frozen in the growing pool of red. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and it
wasn’t because of the crippling D.C. heat. If I was on the Extraction List, I
was supposed to end up like all those other people from my class, the ones who
the Taskforce grabbed right from their desks. Those were the ones who
disappeared. Since Mom had written the law that the Taskforce was responsible
for enforcing, I never thought that I would ever be a target. Politics was all
about protecting its stars, and there was no bigger star than my mother.

But that little
pink piece of paper could only mean one thing. I forced myself to look down at
it. I searched the document, eyes falling on the bottom right corner. It was
faded, stretched by the blood into an unnatural shape, but it was there—the
President of the United States’ signature.

I grabbed the
bag Mom had been trying to pack and zipped it shut. I swung my own bag over my
shoulder and followed Mom and Bo out of our house, hoping that I would someday
be able to come back. But deep down, I knew we were about to drive away
forever.

About the Author:

Renee N. Meland lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two dogs. Her favorite obsessions are Rome, learning new recipes, and exploring the world around her. She is an avid reader of speculative fiction, and believes that telling stories is the best job in the world.